Juliet's Tomb
by Wings to Fly
Summary: A twenty five year old Snape mourns the loss of Lily Evans. How does he react when Harry Potter's daughter, Lily Potter, arrives from the future? PostDH.
1. Chapter 1

_Juliet's Tomb_

**Chapter One**

In the blue fogged morning, the train station took a quality of its own—an eerie aura that chilled the girl who stood before it like an icy mist. She dragged her beat-up leather trunk to the loading area near the front of the train and brushed back the strands of stringy red hair that clung to her forehead. Her parents stood a few feet away, chatting with Lily's godparents, Ronald and Hermione. She tried not to let it bother her that none of them had so much as hugged her goodbye. It was her last year of Hogwarts, after all, and the whole send-off ritual must have grown very old to them by now. Lily waved one last time in their direction but received only an absent nod from her mother, who seemed to be caught up in the set-up of one of Ron's elaborate jokes. A moment later they all burst into laughter. Lily sighed and heaved her trunk up the train stairs and into the passage. If she was careful, she might be able to snag an empty compartment before running into any of her classmates.

The thought had hardly crossed her mind when two Gryffindor boys barged out of a nearby compartment, chuckling over a fanged Frisbee in their hands. Their laughter died on their lips at the sight of Lily.

The shorter one nudged his friend. "Look here, it's Lily Potter," Lily recognized the pair as Kobalt and Rookes and she took a step back, her hand slipping into her pocket for her wand.

"Going for your wand, are you?" Kobalt shot her a bitter grin. "Go ahead! Cast the Imperius me. I know you're just itching to try it out."

She said nothing, but her fingers seemed to twitch around the handle of her wand on their own accord.

The other boy's blue eyes never moved from Lily's, as if he was half-afraid she really would attack at any second. "I swear, Potter, if you so much as cast a _lumos…"_

There was something to the look in his eyes, as if he were truly terrified of her. She slipped her wand back into her pocket. "Enough," she said, lifting her trunk and trying to push past them. "There's no point in losing points for Gryffindor this early in the school year."

Kobalt wouldn't budge. "And some Gryffindor you are. Let me guess: you had your father donate a new Quidditch pitch just to keep you from getting re-sorted into Slytherin."

Lily clenched the spine of the book she held in her other hand. "Leave my dad out of this."

Kobalt didn't seem to hear her. "If you were anyone else's daughter, you'd be in the Ministry for questioning after all the interest you've shown in the dark arts these last six years. But of course, since your name's Potter, you get to practice all the nasty spells you want, don't you?" He took a step closer until Lily could just make out a hint of stubble that had begun to grow on his chin. His eyes darted down. "What's this?" His hand flashed like a snake as he grabbed the book she held. "_A History Of Magic._ Funny, I almost expected it to be a copy of You-Know-Who's diary.

Lily snatched the book back. "You don't know what you're talking about."

The boy smiled at this. "No, I don't. But you do, don't you? I bet you know plenty about You-Know-Who, and not just 'cause your dad killed him."

Lily could feel the rage burning in her throat. "I said, leave my dad out of this."

Kobalt didn't seem to have heard her. "You don't look anything like him, you know. In fact, I reckon your mum must've been screwing someone on the side to have—"

At that point, everything happened very quickly. Lily whipped her wand out of her pocket in one fluid movement, just as her dad had taught her to do, and spoke the very first spell she could think of.

Kobalt hardly had time to reach for his own wand before the orange light streaked towards him, hitting him squarely in the chest. For a moment, all three students stood completely still. Then, just as suddenly, Kobalt's face began to elongate, short grey hair sprouted on his face and a moment later long ears shot up out of the top of his head. He opened his mouth and let out a loud bray. Rookes looked absolutely stricken.

"Don't worry," she said, feeling a little sorry for his friend. "It's just the Midsummer Night's curse. It _should_ wear off in an hour."

"What do you mean, 'should'?"

"On rare occasions, the effects of the spell are known to last longer." She smirked. "You know, if the recipient was already a complete and total ass. "

Not wanting to wait and see if they would retaliate, she lifted up her trunk and hurried into a nearby compartment. Fortunately, it was empty. She sunk into the seat. What had she been thinking? Sure, Kobalt had said some pretty hurtful things, but cursing him? She sighed.

Her dad was a sensitive subject. When people looked at her, all they saw were the millions of little ways that she was nothing like her father. Merlin, by her age Harry Potter had met the woman he was going to marry, had saved the school on multiple occasions, and was just about to defeat the darkest wizard to ever live. Lily, on the other hand, had recently learned how to cook scrambled eggs.

And then there was her interest in the dark arts, something that never would have appealed to her father. The problem was, Lily couldn't really help her interest. In classes, she would try to bite her tongue, but her curiosity spurred her on, asking questions that left her professors nervously clenching their wands. Sometimes she earned herself a note home to her parents. At first, she was shocked—why wouldn't anyone give her a straight answer? Why did her professors skirt around questions of spells that induced comas or reanimated the dead, even though such things certainly did exist? Why did they refuse to discuss more than mere defensive charms? Why did they ignore the more dangerous potions? Why did they pretend that they couldn't hear her when she asked about certain book or a certain wizard?

When he learned of it, her father had looked very unsettled. Jaw tight, he sat her down, and polished his glasses several times before finally telling her about his own experience with the dark arts. He told her stories of men whose dreams of power led to their downfall, stories of the dark wizard he had destroyed, but these stories no longer held the same power over her. Voldemort had been dead a long time—long before her birth-and she couldn't help but feel that the whole idea was something of a fable—a wonderful myth that she had known her whole life.

And yet, ever since the end of the war twenty-six years ago, no one would even approach the subject of more complex spells. _Too dangerous,_ her teachers spit out, and slowly Lily gained the reputation of being a trouble-maker, a dark witch in the making. It had not earned her very many friends, especially as a Gyffindor.

More students were climbing on board now, and Lily could hear them as they dragged owl cages, trunks, and textbooks past her compartment. Occasionally, someone would duck a head inside, but the moment they saw her, they quickly darted away. Some of them seemed afraid of her.

Lily sighed. It wasn't a thirst for power that fueled her interest in the dark arts—that's what no one seemed to understand. It was simply a hunger for knowledge—a hunger that could not be satiated by watered-down lessons and Ministry-approved books. If that hunger led her down a crooked path, so be it. There was much in the world to discover, and Lily would learn it all. Even, she thought with a pang of sadness, if it meant losing a couple friends along the way.

She stretched her legs out on the empty seat across from her and stared out the window at the last students bidding their families goodbye and boarding the train. Deep purple clouds stood out against the crimson evening sky and quite suddenly, she felt very much alone. She desperately wished she could just escape, sometimes. Just pick up and go somewhere where no one knew her as Harry Potter's trouble-making daughter.

Absently, she examined the cover of _A History of Magic_ to be certain those boys hadn't damaged it. It appeared pristine, and she began to read it for the seventh time, enveloped in the story of a history long past.

When the train finally lurched to a stop, she wordlessly picked up her things and carted them out to where the castle loomed in the distance. No one around her spoke a word in her direction—even the Slytherins sneered as they past her—but for once, she didn't notice. Her mind rested on something else, something she hadn't observed before in her textbook, and if it were true…

Sometimes, witches and wizards would disappear completely from the timeline, only to reappear sometime later. The author, Bathilda Bagshot, paid very little attention to these anomalies, but Lily realized that after virtually every instance, the subject in question would return with a wealth of knowledge seemingly unheard of for his time period. Some defeated their opponents with spells that had not yet been invented and others returned with lost, ancient relics. Bagshot speculated that these subjects spent years abroad, studying or inventing, but Lily suspected otherwise. Yes, perhaps they traveled, but not across hills and plains, but across the very fabric of time. Time-turners could only bring someone back so far, but if there were another means of traveling, the implications were huge. A small smile played across her face and it lasted all through the Welcoming Feast and into the wee hours of the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Juliet's TombChapter Two

Disclaimer: All characters contained in this story belong to J.K. Rowling.

"But sir, don't the bromeliads also serve a different function?"

She stood in the dungeons, surrounded by purple and orange whirls of steam emanating from a dozen cauldrons. The question, although perfectly reasonable to ask, seemed to have roused a kind of nervous atmosphere in the room. Several of the Hufflepuff students were whispering furtively to each other and when she looked over, they turned silent, their faces pale. Professor Morbile raised his stringy gray eyebrows, his pupils so round that they seemed ready to pop from his face. "The bromeliads are most commonly used in healing potions, Miss Potter. Now class, if you would turn to page twent—"

"But sir," she said, realizing that she was interrupting but hardly caring now. "I read that they're also used in other potions."

A few Gryffindor girls gasped, their cauldrons forgotten as they watched her. Professor Morbile lifted a bromeliad flower from the desk, twirling it between his fingers, although it trembled imperceptibly. When he spoke, his voice was threatening. "Miss Potter, while I appreciate your curiosity, this is a lesson on the properties of bromeliad in _healing _potions. While the flower may have—other—uses, darker uses, this classroom is hardly an appropriate place to discuss them. I would think your father would have taught you that."

Striding away as if the discussion had closed, he craned his neck over a small Hufflepuff boy's cauldron, inspecting it before loudly barking orders. Lily tried to ignore the glares her classmates were sending her—as if the pursuit of knowledge was something to be scorned!—and stirred her potion clockwise. A mousy, dark-haired girl next to her leaned in. "You know, you really shouldn't ask questions like that."

Lily narrowed her eyes, pushing her straggly hair to the side. "And why shouldn't I?"

The girl, who Lily recognized as Matilda Patil, looked afraid to say anymore, but she finally did, her eyes glued on the cauldron. "Because you're giving people the wrong idea. I know your dad's Harry Potter, but that doesn't give you permission to ask stuff like that. This is dark magic we're talking about."

Lily turned to face her, an insult ready to fly from her lips, but it froze when she saw how concerned Matilda looked. "Look, the only reason I ask those things is because no one seems to know the answer. "Did you know the Ministry has to approve all of our library and text books? Don't you feel as if they're trying to hide something from us?"

Matilda's brow furrowed, as if the thought had never crossed her mind. "I—I don't know. But if you keep this up, no one is going to tell you anything."

Lily felt a numb sense of realization creep through her spine at these words. What Matilda said was true—terribly true. Thinking back, she remembered that none of her teachers had acknowledged her raised hand today. Even the headmistress, Professor Sprout, had coldly ignored her in the hallway. Hogwarts was supposed to be an environment of learning, but with each passing day, she found that she was cut off from more and more information.

"What can I do?" she whispered to Matilda after the two of them had bottled up their potions.

"If I were you, I'd give up-" Matilda saw Lily set her jaw, and continued hastily. "—But, if you really want to get information, why don't you ask someone who isn't going to get too offended? Your dad knows more about fighting the dark arts than just about anyone."

"I really wish people would stop talking about my dad," Lily said quietly, labeling the bottle and handing it up to the front. "I'm not him."

As it turned out, Lily did not need to write a letter to her father. That night, a pure black owl swooped through her window, dropping a thick envelope into her lap along with a small, rectangular box. Lifting up the letter first, with a fair bit of apprehension, she tore open the seal.

_Dear Lily,_

_Mum and I hope your final year at Hogwarts is going well! We've been waiting for a letter, but as it turns out, Professor Longbottom owled us just this morning. Don't be upset, but I asked him to keep an eye on you this year since mum and I figure you've inherited the Potter penchant for trouble. Neville wrote that you've kept up your reputation—don't worry, Lily, I remember personally just how untrue rumors at Hogwarts can be. Just in case, though, I hope you remember everything I told you over the summer. You and I both know just how badly dark magic can corrupt a witch or wizard. Still, I have a feeling you're facing enough unwanted advice as it is, so I'm going to stop preaching and tell you a secret. Some of the most courageous wizards and witches I've known began life interested in the dark arts. Albus Dumbledore, for instance, as well as Severus Snape and even your mother, Ginny Weasley. Yes, your mum was lonely her first year at Hogwarts and began to correspond with a very dark diary. You know the rest of that story, but the point is that it's perfectly natural to have an interest in every aspect of magic. Just remember to exercise caution in choosing the way to express this interest. _

Anyway, Lily, your mum and I have decided that you're too old now for us to try to protect you from the more terrible side of wizardry. I'd have hoped that Defense Against the Dark Arts would have informed you enough, but I know that the Ministry has watered down that syllabus a great deal. I've thought about it, and I think it's time you learn what you feel you need to on your own. In the package I've sent is something that has saved my life and salved my curiosity innumerable times. Just like the Potter passion for trouble, this has been passed down throughout the generations. I don't need to tell you how valuable it is or how handy it will become—just use it and get the answers you need.

_Stay up to no good! Love,_

_Dad_

Lily stared at the letter, her green eyes like saucers. She had expected stern words of advice and admonishment, but here he was, surprising her as he always seemed to, with the invitation to explore her trouble-making side. Sure, her dad had remained against the dark arts, but she couldn't believe that he had given her permission to learn about them anyway. So surprised was she at his words that she nearly forgot about the package sitting by her leg until the huge, soot-colored owl nudged it with his beak. The box wasn't large, but it was just big enough for…

No. Her father wouldn't have sent her that. Not when he'd mailed it to their Gringotts account, telling them it was too valuable to fall into the wrong hands.

Still, she felt a tingling thrill as she lifted up the package and slid her nail across the opening. And then, there it was. Like liquid cloth or woven air, it slid sumptuously from the package, touching her skin so delicately that it could have been a summer breeze. And then, she looked down at where the cloth had fallen and realized that a section of her arm had disappeared entirely. "No," she whispered, a sense of awe covering her like a blanket. "He didn't. He couldn't have." But there it was, and with the rest of her dorm fast asleep, she crept to the ovular, full-length mirror and threw the cloak around herself. It seemed as if no one stared back.

To be invisible, Lily discovered, was one of the most liberating feelings she could imagine. Suddenly, all of Hogwarts was hers—she could climb up to the boy's dorm if she wanted to—she could sneak up to the headmistress's office—she could explore the dungeons—she could even roam the forbidden forest. Best of all, she could pass her peers without fear that they would suddenly stop speaking and turn their wide, hateful eyes in her direction. Somehow, she knew that this was the real reason her dad had sent her the cloak. He knew what it was like to be an outcast and he knew how important it was, sometimes, to just disappear.

Remembering what she had read in _A History of Magic_—it now felt like eons ago—she decided to head straight to the Restricted Section of the library. Although she was certain that the books held no mention of dark magic, she already had a wild, half-baked scheme that relied on discovering more about advanced forms of time-travel. Originally, she was going to ask the decrepit Madam Pince for a pass, but things seemed so much simpler now that she could just glide inside unnoticed.

The first lesson Lily's invisibility cloak taught her was that it was much more difficult to sneak around the Hogwarts' castle than she had imagined. It started the second she slipped out from the Fat Lady's portrait, who, incidentally, had not been asleep and began to shout loudly that someone had exited after hours. Lily just barely had time to sneak behind a coat of arms before Argus Filch hobbled out from a hallway, looking more senile and churlish than ever. "Who's there?" he whispered huskily, his eyes squinting so tightly that she wondered how he could see at all. His terrible cat slinked gracefully around his legs. "If anyone's here, you'll find her, my beauty."

Mrs. Norris indeed seemed to have turned her yellow orbs right towards Lily, and before she could be caught, she tip-toed in the opposite direction, hoping her footsteps weren't audible. Unfortunately, the cloak had a tendency to slide under her feet, and several times she almost hurtled flat on her face, the cloak lifting precariously around her ankles. _How did my dad ever sneak around in this thing? _She wondered several times, finally reaching the library with a thin sheen of sweat on face. Peeves had darted overhead twice, and she worried how many more surprises Hogwarts had in store for her before the night was over. Her hand had just moved to touch the wrought-iron knob of the library door when it was flung open of its own accord, sending Lily hurtling backwards to avoid the two figures exiting right before her.

"—seems to be in working order, if you ask me. Still, I think another search would be advisable."

She squinted in the darkness to see two figures in dark blue robes, their faces illuminated by the bright tip of their wands. The one who spoke, a man with a snarled black beard, turned to the library doors and whispered a few simple locking charms.

"It gets harder and harder," said the other, a short, pinched-faced woman. "I swear, if I didn't know better, I'd say those books have a mind of their own. No sooner do we confiscate one when another seems to pop up out of the woodwork with a title like One Thousand and One Spells Your Enemy Doesn't Want You to Know." She looked down at a book clutched in her hand with a grimace. "Why we bother at all is beyond me."

The man shrugged. "That's a question for the minister. Regardless, keeping these sort of books out of the hands of youngsters sounds like a good plan to me."

'But that's the thing, isn't it?" said the woman. "We go in, we take these books, and then where do they go? Whose hands do they fall in when we bring them to the ministry?"

The man did not seem concerned. He waved his wand and a massive stack of leather-bound textbooks flew up into the air. "Come on, let's bring these out of here.'

The two began to head towards a flight of stairs, and after a moment's hesitation, Lily followed.

"I thought the Headmistress said we should head towards the front gate when we wanted to apparate back."

"Nah, I used to go to school here. This way's easier."

They climbed more and more steps, waiting occasionally for a staircase to swerve in their direction. Lily tried to keep a distance from them, but was forced to race closer and closer as the staircases switched.

"They call it the Room of Requirement," the man was saying boastfully, his eyes sweeping towards the woman's as if hoping she'd be impressed. "Just walk past it a couple times and you can wind up wherever you want. Actually," his voice lowered. "I could make it lead to the Three Broomsticks, if you fancy a drink before we head back."

The woman's face broke into a grin. "Roger, you sly dog."

The pair reached the seventh floor, and Lily scrambled to the side and watched as the man, Roger, examined a tapestry before pacing the hallway thrice, an intense squint in his eyes.

"You really think this'll work?"

"It should. Ah, yes, there it is." Lily blinked as she noticed a simple, stone door where once there had been nothing. She suppressed a gasp when the man opened up the door and disappeared inside with the woman, the door suddenly melting back into the stone walls.

A few seconds of silence passed, and then Lily padded over to the empty wall, softly letting her finger trace the edges where the door should be. "Room of Requirement, huh?" This discovery seemed almost a bigger present than the invisibility cloak, and Lily thanked her luck before concentrating, hard, on the one thing she most required.


End file.
